


Drop it to the Floor

by Savorysavery



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, M/M, Multi, Patron!Gundam, Patron!Komaeda, Post-Despair, Romance, Smut, Stripper!Hajime, Stripper!Kazuichi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6498136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savorysavery/pseuds/Savorysavery





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Hope’s always high at _The Academy_ : but tonight, as the taps flow, something new is destined to begin.

 **Rated:** Explicit/NC-17

 **Genres:** Smut, Romance, Comedy

 

 **Author’s Note:** So, I fell in deep to Soudam, and unfortunately, it seems that I’ll have to dig myself out: rather, I won’t, so there’s nothing unfortunate, is there? Anyways, this is a Stripper AU; yes, a **stripper au** , featuring a healthy helping of the Danganronpa cast from all the games and material. In this world, there’s no despair: just brimming hope, and a lot of boys getting naked, though the Ultimates still exist. I chose, actually, to focus on males because I haven’t seen too many fics with male strippers. They’re quite fun to write, and this is only the first chapter: perhaps I’ll become addicted…Well, we’re gonna start this piece. It’s pretty freeform: there’s no outline, just feelings and hopefully, good pacing. I hope you enjoy this until the end, whenever that comes.

 

* * *

 

It was the thrum of music that made Souda Kazuichi ponder if he could join _The Academy_.

It was Towa City’s premier strip joint, a new place that cropped up in a post-despair world. As with everything, time had a habit of returning the world back to old habits, and if anything, sex was the oldest habit that mankind had, and it flourished under the renewed hope spread by Future Foundation.

Honestly, he’d come to _Academy_ with a group of the guys, desperately trying to capture the twentieth birthdays they’d all missed, tucked up in white rooms, threaded with tubes and wires. It had been, of course, Teruteru’s idea, and somehow, Kazuichi went along with it.

They got a private booth, big enough to the gang: Nekomaru, Teruteru, Hajime, Nagito, Fuyuhiko, and even Gundam, who Kazuichi was surprised would come to such a thing. They settle in, get a round of drinks, and down sharp, blue liquid, gulping the cold slush down until their heads feel light. The show began soon after, hushing them into silence as the lights dimmed, and there was the sudden thrum of music. Two figures step out, and instantly, Kazuichi knew they were different: that they were, like him, the _best_ in their craft, noticed solely for being number one.

Of course, the Ultimate Stripper and the Ultimate Pole Dancer danced here: Towa City was the capital of the world, and all vied for it, for the blooming safety here. It was New York and Milan, Paris and Tokyo, Rio and Shanghai: global capitals crushed into a singular population. Yet all that fades as he watches the two -both androgynous, with long, technicolor hair under the thrumming lights- spin and divest themselves of their clothes, bodies undulating until they’re just pasties and neon underwear. Kazuichi feels himself lean forward and hears the other guys laugh, ribbing him about how desperately sexual he can be, how needy he is. The sound of clinking glass tinkled, ice cubes rattling in the cups.

But it’s not sexual: it’s _curiosity_ and it bloomed into something more, and as the show continues, he found himself more and more curious, more and more wanting, hands itching to lern how to take his cothes off just so, learn how to show a flash of skin so delicately that it enticed the eye.

“I want to do that,” Kazuichi whispered over the rim of his drink.

“You do?” It’s Hajime, of all of them, that asked, hands cupping an empty glass. Kazuichi remembered his eyes being hazy, darting every so often to Komaeda, tongue poking out to lick his lips. “Like…for real?” For a moment, it sounds like Hajime means the stripper on stage, but then KAzuichi catches the same curiosity in his voice, and nods.

“Yeah,” Kazuichi replied, shifting back onto the seat. “I’d do it in a heartbeat, good or not.”

And so, now he does.

Rather, after half a year of training, working the bar, and sneaking around with Hajime -thank god for the bond of friendship- he **will**.

And tonight, he **does** , walking into the club ready and willing.

Kazuichi enters in the back, cuts down a dark hall that bottlenecks into a bright, open room. Partitions separate the area into twenty different cubicles: semi-private spaces for the regular dancers to change and relax in between sets. Of course, the Ultimates -Stripper, Pole Dancer, Escort, Erotic Dancer, and Seducer- have their own rooms, tucked away nearer to the stage, with a full team to keep them groomed and in good health.

Hajime is there, right next to his own cubicle, the partition between them moved to form a back wall that hides them from the rest of the room. Kazuichi scoots between it and settles down on a cushion, make-up spread across a low table. “Hey there, soul friend,” he greets, and Hajime beams, shifting from his own table to touch Kazuichi in greeting. His fingers skirt Kazuichi’s shoulders, leaving a trail of sparkling dust on his arm.

“Hey there,” Hajime chirps, applying the last bit of dark black eyeliner. His green eyes now look like jewels, make his whole expression pouty. “How do I look?”

“Pretty,” Kazuichi admits, and he shifts, invading the space between them. Their elbows jostle as he plucks up the eyeliner, and looks it over. “Mind if I borrow?”

“Not at all.” True, the space is tight, but neither minds though: it’s a nice enough area, with a buffet set off against one wall. Hajime’s already gotten the good stuff, and motions to the plate, tossing Kazuichi a sandwich choked with bacon. He munches on it, arranges his make-up, and sets to undoing the braids in his hair. Ever since he woke up, he’s let his hair grow, and now, Kazuichi has waist long locks, perfect for braiding. As he chews his sandwich, he coils his hair, braids it into two long twintails on the sides of his head, snickering softly.

“You look up to no good,” Hajime says and runs a hand through his brown hair, shaking his head. His hair is long too: not Izuru long, but long enough that he can tug it into a decent ponytail. Up high on his head, it makes him look pretty, a blurring of genders that, on Hajime, looks natural, more so a part of him than a part _from_ him. Better, he looks _comfortable_ ¸ something that both their therapy taught them was more than just a desire, but necessary.

“Always,” Kazuichi replies, and plucks up a spray bottle, spritzing his hair with water. He lets it sit for a moment before turning to Hajime. “Did you get them?” he ask, voice low. He feels his hair tighten a bit, water forcing it into waves, and leans forward, swooping a thick line of black on his lower lid.

“I did. Ibuki made them for us,” Hajime replies, and he bends at the waist, reaching under his table to retrieve a plastic bag. He passes it to Kazuichi and motions for him to open it.

The uniform is far from regulation, and thankfully, not brown: it’s neon pink and white, with bright yellow ribbon and a pair of yellow hair clips. Tucked beneath are a pair of white thigh highs and an even whiter pair of lace underwear, and already Kazuichi can think of wearing them, of how they’ll hug his thighs, of how the lace will sit on his skin. It’s _perfect_ , and he has to fan his eyes to keep the eyeliner -he’s not sure if it’s waterproof- from smudging. “These are perfect,” he breathes, and stands up, shucking off his usual jumper and sock, until he down to just skin. He pulls on the underwear and prances about for a moment, then slides on the skirt. His wide hips drive it low, make it hand just below the beginnings of the “v” of his hips, and it’s _exactly_ what he wants. He jerks on the top -it falls a hand above is belly button, then finally, undoes the ties at the ends of the braids.

His hair falls in waves, thankfully, more controlled than Kazuichi would have though, a neon pink shower of gentle locks that shift with him. He chuckles, catching himself in the mirror, and flashes a smile at Hajime, throwing up a peace sign for good measure. “So, whatcha think, dude? Pretty cute, right?”

“No…twintails,” Hajime says, and his voice is a bit hollow, distance in Kazuichi’s ears. “You…look like _her_.”

Kazuichi pauses, and then he’s yanking at his hair, pulling the bands loose until it falls around him in waves. He feels his chest tightening at the thought of Enoshima, at even remotely _looking_ like him: after all, the feeling of her touch isn’t gone, the cooing of her saccharine voice. It gums itself in his ears until he’s _sure_ his hair is just down. The panic fades then, and Kazuichi finger combs the waves, resituating the yellow clips. “Better?” he asks, keeping his voice low. He doesn’t want anyone to know about the panic sitting at the bottom of his gut right now, doesn’t want to share the fear bubbling up his throat. For good measure, he yanks again, until _he’s_ sure he’s alright.

“Better,” Hajime breathes. “Much better.” He smiles for good measure, and the air between them lightens as Hajime picks up banter. “Can you believe it?” Hajime begins. “We’re _actually_ going on tonight. No drink service, no lap dances: full-fledged _dancing_.”

“As schoolgirls at that. Cliché, right?” Kauzichi says, and the laughter that follows is genuine. “Best damned girls though,” he adds, winking at Hajime.

“We need Hajime and Kazuichi up to stage in five!” It’s the stage manager, they realize, and they cut their chatter, rushing to finish getting ready. Make-up perfect, pasties applied, and uniforms on, they leave their cubicle together, and go

Though Kazuichi would have liked to perform on his own, he’s new, and knows that to get good, you have to start from somewhere. Performing here is enough for now, and it’s the pill he can swallow, _has_ to swallow if he wants to climb up. Plus, there’s something freeing about being with Hajime like this: it’s brought them closer, made the path towards hope more broad and welcoming, less dauntless.

They come up right as one of the older performers is finishing, and there’s a roar of applause, money hitting the stage. She doesn’t even bother to scoop it up: the stage hands collect the earnings and bring them to back after each performer’s set. Hajime, especially was thankful for this: he could barely imagine having to retrieve whatever money may come while also partially -or near to fully- undressed. Kazuichi can’t blame him either.

“Ah, there you are. So, are we using your real names?” The stage manager looks at them, then at her clipboard, tapping a pen against it. Kazuichi had given

“No,” he announces. “I’m not at least. I want to be called…” He pauses. What

“Momoko,” the stage manager says. Kazuichi’s eyes widen in confusion at the rather effeminate name. “Because of your hair,” she deadpans. “It’ll do for now. You can redo it later.” Black eyes narrowed, she turns them to Hajime. “You’ll be...Himawari. That’s cute, right?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Hajime says, voice shaking a bit. “It’s cute.”

“Good then. Ah, that’s your cue.” The lights flare and the stage manager waves for Kazuichi and Hajime to step out on to the stage: Hajime for the pole, Kazuichi for the strip. Hajime nods, and clasps Kazuichi’s hand, his palm dry from the chalk dust he slapped on moments before. “You ready?” Hajime asks, and the intro music begins, a hard bass that ricochets through their bodies. Kazuichi shifts, his shirk tickling the slip of skin between thigh highs. It arouses something in him, and he pushes down at the feeling, trying to focus it like the instructors say, harness it as movable, kinetic energy.

“Let’s do this.” 


	2. Chapter 2

[ **Strip Song of Choice: LUVORATORRRRRY! Feat. Kagamine Rin or Gumi by Giga-P** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7LjwN8W83O4)

 

 **Author's Note:** Here's chapter two of what is beginning as a bit of a rough fic. Admittedly, I haven't written a Strip AU in a while: it's nice to return to what feels like home. Anyways, here's something to whet your palette. It may seem like a quick build, but it's going to be a slow boil of a fic. I hope you look forward to that.

 **Warning:**  Male Stripping, Grinding, Partial Nudity

* * *

There’s the buzz of the music fading out as Kazuichi and Hajime take the stage, Hajime loosely gripping the pole. Kazuichi stands in front of him, back to the crowd. Though he wants to look, he can’t: Kazuichi knows it’d send him back to being a stumbling, awkward mechanic, instead of the steady, limber dancer he needs to be right now.

“Once more, thank you!” A cheerful voice rings out. “Here tonight, we have two wonderful students, who seem to be taking their course work _rather_ seriously. Coming to the stage to tease you are Momoko and Himawari, two budding students who have been _very_ bad.” The audience chuckles and Kazuichi gulps, so eager for the music to start. He lets the MC’s voice fade and focuses back on Hajime, on pulling together this routine.

Months of practice -of early morning runs, of hours stuck in gyms pushing their flexibility, toning up- have led to this moment, and they both close their eyes, and take a breath, holding it in their chests. Their set -practiced for the entire week from dawn till dusk- rolls around their heads, each move calculated to match the others, and they both know that the moment their music starts, Souda Kazuichi and Hinata Hajime cease to exist: in their place will be Momoko and Himawari, commanding the stage.

Hajime looks to Kazuichi and nods, ponytail bouncing, eyes wide, and Kazuichi looks up to the stage manager. She gives a thumbs up and the music comes to life, an electronic beat thrumming that instantly has Kazuichi bouncing on his heels. The music fills out and he moves, spinning around, and Hajime throws himself into action, moving to the electropop tune.

They move fluidly, Kazuichi dropping his weight low, making his skirt flip up. There’s an encouraging hoot, and he rises back up, sauntering in beat to the front of the stage. He turns, stretches his arms up, enough that the already low skirt and high top hitch more, revealing a hint of skin. Waving his finger teasingly, Kazuichi withdraws, and sets to dancing to the beat for a moment.

Hajime climbs the pole and flips down, back pressed against it so that his shirt hitches up, revealing green clover pasties. With a quick hand, he lets the top slid off and flips, legs spread wide, making his skirt flair. His hands catch the pole once more and he slides down, legs spread wantonly as he toes off a sock, licking his lips slowly, rolling his hips into the air.

The bass drops from the music, and that’s each of their queues to start removing clothing, to offer that flash of skin. Kazuichi does, toeing off his shoes, hitching his skirt, and showing the skin of his thighs. He slowly drops to the ground, turns and grinds, rolling his body against the floor so that everyone can see his underwear, can feel the desperation. It’s enough to start murmurs and cat calls, encouragement to move into the break in full. The bass fills back in and Kazuichi continues to grind on the floor, hitching his skirt higher, showing a bit off leg. It’s this moment, this pivotal beat, that he has to hit perfectly, and he does.

He removes his right sock, back arching with pleasure as he lets it slid to the ground, pushing himself up onto all fours. He lets his hips undulate, lets himself openly grind on the air, flashes a coy smile, and undoes the skirt. The cold air is a momentary shock -he can feel _everything_ now- but he doesn’t let it stop him. Instead, he keeps going, toying with the hem of his underwear until he appears bored, snapping it audibly. It makes him jump, but the crowd eats it up, and he continues to move.

The bass drops once more and so does Kazuichi: once more he hitches up his skirt, and grinds on the floor, wide hips high in the air as he creeps forward. He turns onto his back, runs his hands down his chest, and under the top. He feels the scratch of the pasties, and inhales sharply, closes his eyes, and hitches the shirt up and over him, dropping it to the ground right when the lyrics come back, leaving him bare on bottom.

The sight is quite fetching: Kazuichi’s sharp angles are faded a bit from the make-up, and he looks rather effeminate, hips swaying as he runs his hand down his body.

Behind him, Hajime is creeping down the pole tongue lolling from his mouth, hips pressing against it, skirt off to reveal a pair of high, green panties as electric as his eyes. Kazuichi, feeling a bit brave, breaks routine and walks forward, hips swaying, and grips the pole next to Hajime. “Together,” he mouths, and they climb opposite sides, feet crisscrossing, and set to spinning, Kazuichi up high, legs kicking out to take him round and round.

Beneath him, Hajime starts to sink, sliding down the pole, and Kazuichi prepares to flip, twisting his weight until he slides down behind Hajime. Right on the downbeat, they sink to the floor, and Hajime reaches up behind him, grabs Kazuichi’s face, and holds it close, smirking. The song ends, and there’s a moment of silence, their breathing scratching loudly in their ears. For a moment, neither can really gauge things.

Until the roar of applause hits their ears.

The lights dim, and Kazuichi gets up, rolling up on the balls of his feet, then turns, long pink hair swishing behind him. Money is still flying at the stage, but he can’t see it, can’t hear it: all he can sense is the roar of his blood in his ears as he steps backstage, and hopes that Hajime is following behind him. A bubble of courage in his chest bids him to look over his shoulder, and he winks, shaking his hips for good measure, before he tucks himself back behind the curtains, out of sight. Hajime arrives moments after, a huge grin on his face, and they embrace, giggling so loudly that the stage manager has to force them back down stairs to the dressing room.

They both leave before either can catch a sight tucked near the back: a shock of white hair and a fauhawk, situated side by side, technicolor drinks before them. Had they have noticed -not an impossible feat, given the intimacy of the seating at _Academy_ , it would have given both boys pause. Certainly, it was giving one Tanaka Gundam and one Komaeda Nagito pause, for as close as they were to Kazuichi and Hajime -and that was rather close, given their previous circumstances- they hadn’t known this _very_ secret.

“Komeda,” Gundam begins, and he squirms in his seat: he’s seen Kazuichi topless before, seen him in nothing but a tiger print speedo at the pool, but somehow, it’s _different_. Seeing Kazuichi's hair, long and down to his hips, wavy and sensual as it moved with him, has Gundam's skin clammy. Watching Kazuichi grind against the floor, lips parted in pleasure, has him blushing. Yet the most obvious is that Kazuichi had intent in this display, that his skin was purposely being showcased as his own personal commodity. The look at the end, the flash of sharp teeth, of soft, pink lips slick with lip gloss, looked as if Kazuichi - _Momoko_ , he thinks, and it makes his pants tight- were inviting everyone in the room to more of his skin, to more of the soft, creamy skin that his underwear _barely_ hid. “I think that was _Kazuichi_ and _Hajime_ displaying themselves thus on the stage!”

“Ah, how wise, Gundam,” Nagito chirps, tilting his head. He flexes his left hand, mechanical fingers spreading, then taps his chin. “I would agree though. It appears our friends are hiding something from us. How blissfully torturous, eh?” Nagito chuckles, trying to cover up the blush on his face: seeing Hajime like that, twisting and writhing on the pole, hair up in a ponytail to reveal the tanned nape of his neck, hips thrusting into the air meeting an invisible partner, has Komaeda's pants **tight** , his hands itching to undo the fly and relief the growing pressure. He snatches up his drink and chugs it, hoping that the dizzy feeling of alcohol will provide a bit of clarity. But the drink is watered down, and it provides nothing but a cold chill that sticks to the back of Nagito’s throat. 

“My word,” Gundam begins, shaking his head. “I…”

“I emphasize,” Nagito says, leaning back, Gundam’s drink in his right hand. He taps the cool glass against Gundam’s nee and he drinks in slow sips, eyes still wide.  “Well, shall we go try and find them post-show? It seems we have something to…discuss.”


End file.
